The Life and Times of Kurt Hummel
by elegantlyterrifying
Summary: A crossover of Interview with a vampire: The vampire chronicles, and glee. Klaine friendship, Kum endgame.
1. Chapter 1

He didn't know how long it was now, that he had been alone.

He was born in a simple way, from a humble family, but he had worked his way up the proverbial social ladder until he stood at its highest terrace, and still he had been unhappy. He could have had any girl he wanted. Miss Fabray, Miss Berry, Miss Cohen-Chang, Miss Lopez, Miss Pierce, or even the feisty Miss Jones. All beautiful, all unique like precious jewels. And he, the player that he was had often called them one, giving a jewel to each one. Miss Fabray was the unbreakable diamond, Miss Berry the deep and delicious ruby, and so on, and so forth. Of course, none of it mattered now, as they were all dead and gone, but their memory still remained with him. Alas, he forgot nothing.

When he was only a young man of sixteen, and he was living on the banks of the Thames along with so many others at that time, a mighty sickness hit, later to be called The Bubonic Plague, but then called the Black Death. He watched as everyone near to him slipped away, felled by the terrible sickness, holding onto his eyes each time with their last gasps of life fleeing their lips. He watched as each one left him through the months, until he was the last one left, and at the age of eighteen he was finally orphaned. Living in England during the fourteenth century was difficult enough, and the plague only made it worse.

He had to give all his funds on making a proper funeral for his father, step-mother, and step-brother, which he mourned greatly. He would not have them buried without the proper tradition however, although so many bodies were left to rot in the streets at that time. He would only find out later what could have saved his family, and by then, it was far too late. Heartbroken, he took to wandering the streets at night, with nothing left to make him smile again. Whores could not please him, or the view of the Thames spreading itself out into the ocean. He seemed to be only craving one thing, the return to what once was; the retrieval of his family. He would have liked to have joined them in death, but he was cursed with immunity to the horrid disease, and he was too proud to kill himself. Instead he seemed to go searching for death, cheating, stealing, and defiling virgins much like the devil himself. And how he would have loved to have joined him.

Nothing satisfied him. His heart sat inside his chest like a cold rock, and no laugh lines had ingrained themselves into his face. As the last remaining Hummel, he gave a shoddy remembrance of what the family once was, but he did not care. He slipped into and out of personifications like no other man that people knew, and he might as well have been a travelling actor for all the characters he took upon himself. But still, he was forever unsatisfied, until one fateful night.

It had been a regular evening, one spent in a back alley of London with a young group of boys, joking around, and his eyes as empty as his place in the family mausoleum. There had been drinking, of course. Nothing was without the liquid amber these days. He used it to stay upright, rather than most people, who used it to fall down deep. Being used to it, the boys around him stumbled as they slowly strolled down the ways, moonlight smiling at them every now and then, but otherwise they were in shadow. And that is how kurt wanted it. He saw it as fitting for his last moments. He was nineteen now, and he wished to die before he turned twenty. Because Finn would never reach that age either. He had an innate fear that if he reached that age, all would be lost, a barrier would be crossed, and he would never see him again. And he had to see him again, because Kurt's secret was that Finn had always been more than a brother to him, he had been his very first crush. But of course it didn't matter now. Finn was dead, and Kurt's heart had never been fixed.

So that was what gave him the courage to lazily smash a bottle against a brick wall, and hold it up to the throat of a pretty blonde. Of course, in an instant, a punch landed on the side of his head, and he fell to the ground, as unresponsive as a dead bird, not a peep coming from him. He felt angry beatings from every direction, quietly falling away into blackness, pleased with the thought that he was going to die this time. He had been searching for it for so long, that he only realized now how he had been skirting it. It was easy to die in London, but he had been afraid. Not anymore, this time death was surely here for him. And he thought he felt him, circling him, patiently waiting for him to finish getting his punishment, and he was thankful to see him at last.

But in the next instant, he felt himself being hoisted up, and he wondered idly if he was to be deposited in the Thames. That would be fitting, he decided. To wash up on the shores of some place that was not his home, as he had stopped belonging there long ago. But the hoist wasn't cruel, in fact, it was rather gentle. Sam leaned against the boy beside him, and he knew the body to be male, by the broad shoulders supporting him. He let himself be dragged to the wall, and felt himself fall against it, sitting down, his body hunched over, tired and broken, and he was still not finished. Still undone, but still alive, and he felt tears come only then. Miserably, they fell from his eyes, as he yearned for a death that would not come for him. Through the mask of his pain, he saw a blurred shape kneel in front of him. _"Oh Kurt. I have been watching you. All you really need is the courage for life." _The shapes voice was soothing, yet dark, and velvety, and smelled of uniformed normalcy, but also of London, as everyone did. Kurt did not speak in reply, but only watched as he waited for the death that was sure to come.

He could feel himself bleeding inside, this man hadn't come swiftly enough to save him, and after a moment, his brain asked what had happened to the boys that were doing him such a favour, but found he couldn't bring himself to care too much about it. It was if his body had finally decided to let him die as his heart already had, and for once he felt an inkling of hope, waiting for the light that would take him home at last. He shut his eyes, waiting to see his father again. The smell of oils following him where ever he went, which came from his job as an inventor. And Carol, who had expected him of his, fancies all along, but had enjoyed his company none-the-less. And Finn who had broken his heart more than a few times, but he still chased like a bee tapping at the glass panes at the churchyard.

He felt himself slipping away, as he slowly slid down the wall further, falling into filth and more filth, staying out of the sun forever. He closed his eyes then, the effort of keeping them open far too much for him. But as he went he heard only one thing, _"Oh no, you won't be going anywhere," _and suddenly there was a warmth in his neck, and the reaction to the sharp pain only came later. It was as if someone had stuck him there with a needle, no, two of them, and he felt himself tire further, until he feared he would be an empty shell soon, to match his empty mind. Then there was a tearing sound, and the pain was gone. Warm rain fell on his lips reflexively he licked it away, only to find that it was not rain at all, but something inexplicable, a taste so rare that it filled his thoughts. It tasted of the summers before the plague had happened, and suddenly he wanted more. Trying to find the source, he reached up, and found a welling of the rain on a cold limb. Taking it into his mouth, he drank hungrily from the spring until suddenly he felt it being pulled from his hand.

Perhaps it had been his initiation into heaven, or perhaps it had been his entrance into hell, because nothing so sweet could bode so well for him. Nothing ever had. But as soon as the source of elixir was gone, he felt a deep pain start somewhere inside of him, and roar through his insides, making him convulse, the pain worse than that of the beating he had taken earlier. It roared through, him, making his breath come faster, and his heart beat less and less and less until it stopped all together, and finally, he had gotten what he had wanted. His heart was no longer beating. But there was strangeness to this death, it did not feel right, it felt as if he was more alive than ever before.

He looked up then, opening his eyes to the night sky, and instantly crowing in wonder at the dazzling lights that looked as if they had been relit after years of slowly dimming. He turned his head to see a the wall beside him now, and couldn't help but stare at all the new patterns that he saw in the rock. The smell of filth was suddenly overpowering him, and he quickly sprang up, too quickly, but he was fine, poised and balanced, and all his bruises were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Reaching him quicker then he thought he would, Kurt wanted to look into the eyes of the man who had not let him slip away like he had wanted, but instead had magically healed him. He should have been afraid, this man could be a witch or something of the like, and Kurt knew what happened to witches. On the other hand, many people, especially in the country still thought that witches could do nothing but good for the small, doctor less communities. He was reaching forward, to lift the chin of the man in his weak state in front of him. And maybe, if he had not taken that moment to glance to the side, things could have gone differently as well. But no, that small glance changed things between the two already.

What he saw was nothing he expected, but of course, the boys that had been beating him must have been stopped in some way. And this was evident for the way they lay, their eyes blankly unseeing, already growing empty and cold. He stared at them, and could not stop it. He couldn't help thinking about how he had wanted to be them, and still did. How badly he wanted to be laying there, his kneck twisted at an odd angle, a pool of blood cooling around him. Or the way that things already smelled, that whiff of that drink on the air, of that taste that he had a tiny bit of earlier. He wondered if one could become addicted after only one drink of it, as he seemed to be. His throat was burning for it, and he shook his head, as if being released from a trance. Panic tried to climb up his spine, but he beat it back, as he usually did with any emotion that did not fit his temperament.

Looking back at the man who still leaned against the wall, he noted his fine, clean clothing, and the way that he leaned even with a confident stance. Finally, he did lift his hand, and lifted the other man's chin, slowly, so as not to have this mysterious man's violence used on him as well. He found that he looked into the liquid amber eyes of the other man, and he saw brown curls, blood, and also pain. When he thought about him in the future, that would always be the image he remembered of him. That first sight really did give Kurt his impression of the man that would be his mentor, and would later lead him to make a very harsh decision. His eyes focused on the blood, his expression unchanged, as it always had been since that time. Leaning forward, he licked the blood of the man's face, feeling disgusted as he realized what he had done, and then again tasting that liquid jewel. It seemed to smother his senses, and nothing else was more important than the taste of the drink, and how much he thirsted for it. He closed his eyes, his jaw feeling that sharp, sweet burst of pain as if he had tasted something sugary, and he stepped back, hitting the wall behind him, although he knew that it should be across the alleyway from him. He watched in a panic as the dark stranger stared at him unblinking as well. Only then did the other man speak.

"You are dead, if that is what you were wondering."

Kurt stared back, confusion swirling around amidst other silly emotional debris like a tempest inside his brain and heart. He listened, to hear his heart, to listen to the thud that had reassured him every night, as it did every man, since his birth. He heard it, that silent thud, he heard it, or where it should have been. He heard the silence of its empty place, where it should be, where it was only a few short minutes ago. And only then did he let that panic rise, let it enter his mind and body. He felt it taking over for him, felt it grabbing hold of his brain, and he let it.

He was back across the alleyway, holding the dark curled man up, by the shirt, something he had not been able to do before, being so week from malnourishment, mixed with his taste for the sinful drink. He was snarling, animal like rage seeming to control his actions. He felt his fangs as if he were nothing more than an animal pierce his lower lip, that ruby blood that was his own leaking into his mouth. This is what he was then. A crazed animal. He slammed the stranger up against the wall, his voice ragged, he only realized now that he had been screaming in rage. He listened in on what he said then, trying to understand himself even.

"YOU STOLE MY DEATH."

He looked back at him with those beautiful amber eyes, pity the only thing that shone in them.

He dropped the man as fast as he had lifted him, stepping back in shock. He wasn't sure what with however, he did not understand. He was supposed to be dead. Swivelling on his heel, he turned, and ran towards the Thames, towards the bridge, the only bridge. If he was saved, he could undo that simply with a death. And this time, he would not be frightened, only fierce, and proud. He had his death stolen from him, and it was within his right to take it back. He reached the bridge within a matter of minutes, the lights of the rest of London already gone and done, and dawn would arrive within a few hours. He only stood at the middle of the bridge for a moment or two, tasting his own blood, and looking back to see if his 'saviour' had decided to follow him. For a small second, he almost wanted to be stopped, but then his heart hardened. Without even thinking of it, he jumped off of the bridge into the river below, nothing on his lips but his own blood, reddening them, bejewelling them.

First there was wind as it rushed past his ears, his own scream lost in it, and he was happy, because he was unafraid. He hadn't meant to scream, he didn't want to. He was happy. He was surely going to die this time, because Kurt Hummel could not swim. And he was Kurt right? He was still Kurt? He wasn't sure if he was still classified as him, or if he had been for a very long time. The lights of London followed him down, and he saw no one, not even a guard come to see what the matter was about. Then there was a bone-breaking slap as his body hit the water. Then nothing but liquid, filling his every orifice. It penetrated him, taking him everywhere, and he and the river Thames were one. He literally felt his lungs fill with water, felt it as his stomach filled with it too. He was now so much water, that there might as well have been no Kurt to hold it together. He was a container, a vessel, nothing.

But he still had consciousness. He could feel his bones knitting themselves back together, and the water pumping out of his lungs as it came in. He felt his boots touch the bottom of the river, and he felt the pull on his legs when he started to walk in the general direction of the shore. He could see the bones that were snagged under nets, a gold coin here and there, and the pieces of shit that floated past. He could feel his throat burning, but oxygen was just a formality it seemed, because he was fine. Except for the fact that he still wasn't dead, and he was completely soaked to boot, with his lungs full of water. Upon reaching the shore, he immediately bent over and threw up dirty water, mixed with blood. The water should have poisoned him at the least. Unfortunately he was looking for a fast death, not a slow one. He weakly moved up the bank to reach the road ahead. Still not dead, and he almost wanted to give up. But he couldn't because he had someone he wanted to be with, and god damnit it all, he had decided to die tonight and he would. He began to climb the nearest building, a burning hunger inside him unlike anything he had ever felt before. He stood up on the roof, staring down at the ground below. This one would hurt more, he decided, but so be it. He slipped a toe over the edge, feeling a rush like no other as he slowly put the rest of his foot over, and then the other. He stepped off the roof, shutting his eyes. There was the sound of his head hitting the pavement, and a loud crashing sound. And he lay there, in agony, first from the horrible pain of the break, and then from the terrible agony of his bones literally fixing themselves back together.

He wanted to cry, but he hadn't cried since his brother had, and this did not seem as fitting a moment. It wasn't as big. Breaking every bone in your body, and then feeling it knit its self back together was not as hard as your heart breaking. In fact, he almost enjoyed the pain, because surely he was dead now. He laughed rather maniacally. His hair flowed out around him, as it was cut in the same style as most men of that time, and he was the dirtiest he had ever been. He had nothing. He had lost his family, along with his humanity, and his ability to choose for himself. He might as well just lie where he was for the rest of his life because frankly, there really was no point anymore. Over the years as he grew old, he could hopefully grow a blanket of moss over himself to keep warm, and maybe someone would think to feed him. If he even needed to eat still. Maybe he was supposed to live off the particles in the air now that he was impervious to death.

"Oh you can die Kurt. I'm not going to tell you how, as that would obviously be a horrible idea at this point, but you can die."

He lazily turned his head to look at the man who had made this happen. Maybe he was the devil. He looked handsome enough for the role. It would explain a lot. Who else would curse a man to something such as this, especially one that sought out death? He didn't speak, just stared and then shut his eyes as a spasm ran through his body when his little toe reconnected to his foot. He stared up at the sky again, watching as the world slowly got a tiny bit lighter. He could see dawn around the corner, and it pleased him. He could watch the sun rise at least. Maybe he could see many as he made his home here on the ground. Maybe that could be his job. To watch every new day dawn without Finn there and paint out every sunrise without Finn, and describe it in detail to any passerby. All he would ask for in return is for no one to step on him. He grunted and arched his back in pain as he felt each disk move back into place. And then he lay still again, waiting to see the sun, his last joy in life.

He felt himself being lifted up then, and being taken away from his space. He tried to fight, tried to kick or scream, but his body was almost completely exhausted from all the work it had done to repair itself. Instead he lay passively in the dark haired stranger's arms, listening to the sounds of a city waking up, and turning his head to the side, he could just see where he had lain, and the amount of blood all over the dirty street. He let his head fall back was an empty sigh, breathing reflexively, but not because he had too. After some time, and as the sky slowly grew lighter and lighter, until it seemed that the sun was going to finally pop up, they arrived at an estate. Not slowing his speed, the stranger kicked open the front door and headed down the hall, and then down stairs. Finally, he put Kurt down, inside a coffin. Not that Kurt cared too much, it was better this way. Maybe he could sink to the bottom of the sea inside this coffin. Even as the lid came over him, he didn't really mind too much. A moment later he was asleep anyways, not hearing the words that the stranger said, not that he would even have understood what he meant by it.

"_I guess you'll have the maid in the morning."_


	3. Chapter 3

Just as soon as his eyes had closed in slumber, he was now awake again, and surrounded in darkness still. He wondered if maybe he had only blinked, but the illusion was ruined when he left his hands up and they hit a hard wall of polished wood. There was a handle right above his head that he found after he felt around for a bit, and he pulled downwards to hopefully move the lid of the casket. He pulled it back easily, his strength filling him with surprise once again. With the lid back, he sat up to see the ceiling of the room he had been put in. Noticing his surroundings, he saw the wine racks holding the tastes of many years, and couldn't help but itch for it, his fingers already feeling cold. He tentatively climbed out of the coffin, doubling over in pain almost at once from the way his stomach ate at him. He gasped, reaching out for the coffin for support, and pulled himself up again.

Shakily, he made himself over to a staircase, his thin fingers reaching forwards like they would have reached for the quills on a harp. Like they had once reached for the quills on a harp. Shaking his head to clear any images that might dare pop up, he tried to concentrate on his hunger pangs instead, which proved to be a completely stupid idea as well. As soon as he began to pay any mind to it, he doubled over once again in pain, feeling tired although he had just woken up. He took a moment to sit down on a step on the stairs, although he was now high enough to see the hallway. He rested against the wall, his eyes bloodshot, and one leg on the same step as him, the other down a step. He tried to lift the lower one, but he was too tired. Maybe the water from last night really had poisoned him, maybe he would die.

Instead he watched the stone hallway as a young woman slowly walked towards him, lighting the hall candles for the evening. He quietly listened to her shoes tap across the floor, getting closer and closer. But there was something else too. Something else entirely, it was like a steady rhythm, thumping away like the beat of a drum. He blinked in surprise as he realized that what he was hearing was the beat and thump of blood pumping throughout her body. It didn't make sense, as he wasn't even quite certain what that meant. But that steady beat was so tantalizing, and he wanted it. He wanted to eat it up, to drink it, to nourish himself with the sound. He tried to make his way up the stairs to get closer to it, but at the very top, he doubled over once again in weakness and hunger. He let out a low growl of pain, his lips hurting from where he had punctured them yesterday, or before, or whenever it had been. It didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered. As far as he was concerned, he was dead, and he was reborn. But he was still himself.

Anyway, with his doubling over in pain, it seemed that he had attracted some attention from the candle lighter, her hurried footsteps coming to a stop with a clatter beside him. She rolled him over, looking worriedly down at him, and immediately he stared at the blue in her neck. He had never noticed that blue so much before. It seemed to thump along with her heart beat, and if he looked closer, he saw a redder colour snaking its way up into her head. It was as if noticing the colour triggered something inside him. Suddenly, he smelt something in the air, a coppery, yet alcoholic smell. A whiff of that summary taste came from the girl as she spoke to him in concern. But he ignored her, his pupils dilating in need. He caressed the side of her face then, and she quieted, staring back into his eyes, her own widening in wonder. She leaned down to kiss his cherry lips, and he didn't mind the feel of her lips on his. He didn't feel disgusted with himself like he normally did. He only felt aroused. But he couldn't tell why.

He trailed kisses down her neck and sunk his fangs into her red colour.

And suddenly everything was euphoria. He felt that piercing joy inside him that he had missed for so long. That summary taste, that inexplicable, beautiful taste, filled his every thought, making the moaning of the girl unnoticeable to him. All he knew was the joy he felt at this thing, this new thing that he had discovered. His joy had been returned to him. He licked at the wound, each drop filling him with energy and sustenance, making him cry out in murmured pleasure at the life force that he was stealing. He was stealing, suddenly, he jumped back, out from under the girl as she fell to the floor, her soul already leaving her eyes, going out of the wound that still bled onto the cut stone floor. He scrambled away, feeling at his mouth, feeling these things, these canines that seemed to have grown overnight. His hands shook as he pulled his dirty fingers away, and his eyes focused on the young girl, lying dead on the carpet. Blood still flowed from her, and his eyes fixated themselves on it. He wanted that high, that joy, that escape again. He felt himself reach towards her again, and he jerked back at the same time, trying to control himself, feeling absolute horror at the fact that he wasn't too upset about killing an innocent girl.

He stared at her body, afraid that if he touched it, it would dirty him and he would be cursed for life, if he wasn't already. He felt around his mouth with his tongue, his eyes widening in surprise when he felt his teeth being absolutely normal in their pristine row. He reached his hand up again, and felt around, feeling nothing. He stared down at the girl, tentatively shifting her hair aside to reveal puncture wounds on her neck. So it had been no dream, he had bitten her, and drank her essence. He was surely some demon, flung back from hell because he was too evil and sinful for any world. Maybe that's why the church preached against abominations like him. He stood up then, feeling completely rejuvenated, albeit a bit uncomfortably dirty, and murderous. He observed his surroundings once again, walking down the hallway to try a shut door only to find it locked. He walked the length of the hallway down to the only other door that did not include the wine cellars. It was locked as well, but on both doors there had been no locking mechanism. They would have to have been locked from the outside. This meant that the girl had been sent to him, herded to him, like a sheep sent to slaughter.

He felt more anger build up for the stranger that had saved him. At first he had found him to be rather handsome and alluring, but now he was beginning to really piss him off. He glanced coldly, emotionless even, at the girl still lying at an odd angle on the cold floor. If he was to be confined here, he didn't want to stare at her, so he rolled her, without much effort around the corner, her arms at her sides, her stare blank. And blood still oozed out, the last of her life force trying to escape a doomed body. He stared at the blood, feeling his stomach rumble, realizing he was still have starved. He knelt down, shutting the girl's accusing eyes, he hadn't even learned her name, and putting her hands folded on her chest. Standing up again, he surveyed his handiwork, feeling a bit better at the way she lay now at least. With the way her hair spread around her, and her neck flopped a bit to the side, you couldn't even see the bite mark.

He then made his escape, hiding around the corner from the body he had just ruined. He tried not to think about the girl's family, hoping that she was an orphan. Not that it did any good. He was seeing visions of her worried face staring down at his own now, and he saw that light innocence in her eyes, and he had crushed it. It had felt good at first to steal that, the initial joy had made him so giddy. But now he felt worse than before, and he slid to the ground. He hadn't even thought about the fact that he was a cannibal, completely insane, and a murderer now. It seemed that last night had taken him from bad to worse, raising the stakes of his petty crimes, a punishment for all that he had accomplished and done to the world around him.

He flicked his head to the side then, hearing a creaking, groaning sound. Shuffling of feet, a dragging sound, and maybe death had finally come to greet him at last? He would surely go happily with him, even if hell was his destination. Maybe they had baths in hell, because he was feeling rather itchy. If they had baths in hell he decided that he could endure the heat, misery, pain, eternal damnation, etc. He just really wanted a bath. Or maybe to just take a blade and cut off all of his gross, matted, hair. Truth be told, he could barely remember what he had done the night before, but it obviously had not been a fun experience.

After a moment, he stood up and went around the corner again to investigate, not caring about dangers. But instead of the dead girl, there was the stranger, she was gone, the door locked and closed again, no doubt. He turned away in frustrated anger, mixed with a hateful silence. Although he would have liked to peek under his eyelashes at the stranger, because damnit, he really was hot. And those soft curls that fell down his back after being loosely tied at the nape of his neck was downright beautiful. But he was angry, and he was already in love. With a dead person, but he was dead now as well, so that was all fine and dandy then.

He began to walk away, when he heard the man talk behind him.

"Kurt, come back, please, that's no way to treat your host. I have provided food for you have I not?"

And he was instantly angry, he had said it in a light and funny tone to try and get a laugh out of him, but it was as if everything he said was just wrong. "Oh yes, I can't die now, and I'm a murderer, excellent, you're great, thank-you."He finished it off with a flourishing bow, which he hoped he still pulled off well even with his current appearance. He was sure he looked as if he had just crawled out of a hole filled with mud and shit, and he was certain he smelled like it as well. Blood was splattered all over the front of the shirt that he hadn't changed for a what seemed like forever now, and he was barefoot, yet his face was more Hummel than ever.

He glared with such am angry brilliance that it would have been hard for anyone to not look away in shame and submission when faced with those beautiful, yet wrath filled blue orbs, only made all the more beautiful by his change. It had been a long time since he had shown such annoyance with another person before that he almost forgot himself, lost his footing when the stranger only smiled fondly at him. He instantly felt demeaned, as if he had just smiled like he would at a new born babe. The man walked forwards, and kurt could not keep himself from backing up in defence, making him use a few choice words under his breath.

"_You can call me Blaine. Blaine Anderson the Third."_


	4. Chapter 4

He sneered in disgust at the girl sitting in front of him, and the sneer only intensified as she glared right on back. He didn't even understand what it was about this one that annoyed him more than the other children. If anything, she should have been the one to please him more out of the orphans. She didn't conform to their ways, they treated her like an outcast for it, but still, she stuck up her little nose and waded through it, while her eyes cried all the while. Well, her eyes didn't cry, but they were always at that point, where if you dropped a pin it seemed as if she might burst into tears. And she deserved a good cry if nothing else. She was small, almost child-like really. It was as if someone had told her to stop growing, so she had.

He glanced over at Blaine, who was actually only an inch or two taller. He stared hungrily at the girl in front of them, who yes, had a tear track down her face. "Just one more time sweetling," Blaine said, cooing at her as if she was a pet. The stony defiance in her eyes made Kurt, who hadn't backed down in over two hundred years, look down in embarrassment for the poor thing. It was always like this however, Blaine always had this weird thing where he would play with his food and then eat his dinner. He liked to dress them up, and make them comfortable. Oh yes, then he would do the throat ripping.

Kurt couldn't stand it, never could, even at the beginning.

He backed across the hallway floor, those closed doors getting larger and larger, and the bolts on them bigger too. He must have looked completely panicked, because Blaine or Mr. Anderson looked completely concerned. But suddenly that look of concern seemed to wear thin at him. He didn't want it. He didn't want worry over him, and he certainly hadn't asked for it. He began to feel caged, everything closing in on him at once, he was an animal. And suddenly that animal wanted out, so it attacked the nearest thing. He lunged forwards, jumping easily off his back to land a foot away from Mr. Anderson the third. Reaching out, he grabbed him around his throat, and he must have been expecting Kurt to be grateful or something, because he definitely wasn't expecting it.

"Why. Why did you do this to me." His voice was so calm, but his teeth were clenched, and his jaw so tight that he could feel something inside him breaking but he didn't know what exactly that was.

Blaine seemed to be joking a bit on air because his reply was gasped out and stupid. Yup, definitely not enough air. "Y-You were dying."

Kurt dropped Blaine, and leaned back against a wall, collapsing into himself as he broke again and again, but not enough to make himself be dead. He laughed and laughed against that wall until Blaine left him, and the rising sun was coming. Blaine came back then, and led Kurt back to the coffin, and Kurt did not struggle this time. He didn't because he was still half crying, half laughing. He watched, his mouth movig rhythmically with his spasms as Blaine dutifully closed the lid over him, and he kept chuckling to himself as they turned into sobs and hiccups, and as he wished more than anything for his big brother.

The next day, Blaine let Kurt into the great hall, where there was a tub and a fire. A glass of wine sat on a small table beside it. Blaine pointed at the tub, indicating to Kurt that he should get in, but he only stared warily at Blaine until Blaine reached forwards and undid Kurt's shirt. Kurt watched as Blaine undressed him, and then put him in the tub. He stared blankly ahead as Blaine left, and only sunk under the suds when he heard the door shut. He stayed under the bubbles for a long time, watching as strands of his hair floated by him, watching as dried flakes of nothing floated past his eyes. The soap didn't sting his eyes, and the water didn't bother with him. He could become a Kurt fish if he wished, forever swimming in the deep waters of nothing, never surfacing. He would come up every couple of years or so, to catch a glimpse of no one, and to see how the world was faring, and then he would go down again, sinking to the bottom to visit the sea monsters.

Or maybe he could learn himself on how to die. Maybe he could become his own teacher, and then he could kill Blaine, and he could kill himself. But would he go to hell then? Hell instead of heaven?

He surfaced, and reached for the wine, taking a swig and tasting nothing, and feeling nothing as it made its way down. In disgust, he threw the glass at the wall, watching as it dried to stain the stones. He guessed then that to taste that life and spice again he would have to drink from a different type of glass. The thought of it made him cringe, but at the same time his body gave him away as he reacted to the idea of blood on his tongue. His fangs were suddenly gripping onto his lower teeth, and his body was rigged as he straightened in the tub. And suddenly his hand was reaching out over the lip of the tub, his breath was catching in his throat and he had blood in his mouth as the tub tipped over on its side.

Water spilled everywhere as Kurt drank; his hand enclosed the fat belly of a rat, it twitching in his hand, and the drink in his mouth. It wasn't as delicious as people blood, but it still gave him a little bit of that high, that up take, that draft of air. He threw the carcass into the flame when he was finished, wiping at his mouth, as he lay naked and panting on the floor. As he stared around him, he finally noticed that the key element of windows was missing in the hall, yet he was strangely okay with that. He had always preferred the night anyways. He didn't know how long he stayed there, but the water had dried up by the time Blaine came to get him with clothes for him, and Kurt was hungry as well, and not in the mood for rat.

"Come on Rachel, just one more time."

And Kurt was drawn back to the present moment, as the young woman's lip quivered in fear. She wasn't much younger than Kurt's physical age really, probably about seventeen, the age Finn had been when he died. And something in her eyes told Kurt that she was hurting as well. Something in the way she carefully moved how fragile she seemed. Of course all of the human variety was fragile to Kurt now, but that wasn't quite what he meant. Of course, The Black Death was making its second round through London, taking most of those who saw it. Leaving the poor, defenceless immune behind to cope. He knew that feeling so well and suddenly he saw some understanding in the young woman's eyes, in that split second she took to glare at him. And with that glare, Kurt knew her, understood her, why she wasn't really fighting them.

Why she hadn't run away with her supposed friends when Kurt and Blaine had grabbed a hold of her. It was because she and Kurt were alike. And even though he was two hundred and nineteen years old, this seventeen year old girl seemed older than him. "Blaine," he said quietly then, which made Blaine shut up his mouth then, because Kurt did not speak unless he had to. He preferred to watch nowadays. "Leave me with her." He didn't look at Blaine, his expression remaining immovable. He didn't want to give away what he planned to do with Rachel. Blaine nodded curtly then, and smiled cruelly, happy that Kurt seemed to finally be coming around after all these years.

He heard the door slam and click, and he waited as he heard Blaine walk away. She stared back at him now, her black corset, and red skirt doing wonders for her body tones. She really was beautiful, just not his type. He stared at her still, drinking her in, trying to be sure that he was right when he made these assumptions of what she wanted. She didn't speak either, firmly keeping her mouth shut, until she let out a little gasp when Kurt asked his first question.

"Who was he?"

The question was very simple, yet it seemed to slap Rachel across the face as she cringed away for the first time. It wasn't physical pain that scared her, it was mental. He could appreciate that. Finally, she gritted her teeth, and spoke for the first time.

"He was Finnagin. He was a Scott. He died in war."

So Kurt had gotten it wrong then. He sat back in surprise, fitting the rest of her life together easily. So her parents had died then, and Finnagin was her last home, and he had died too. So that's why she was with the orphans. He sighed almost at the familiarity of the name. He had never told Blaine about Finn, or anyone else. And a long version of the name was just as popular with him. But still, he pitied Rachel, holding her in a sad stare.

"I don't want your pity, sir. I want to go free if you please."

He cringed at the way she said sir, calling him a sir. That was reserved for the help, and for children. But not only that, in the way she said sir, there was no fear, only scorn. Which pissed him off a bit. He had never been treated with scorn before, well, he had, but no one had ever lived to finish their scorn. Blaine was always sure to defend him. Not that Kurt always wanted it. It had been a very long time since he had a good argument, and the partner in the debate hadn't ended up dead. Blaine always seemed to choose the ones that bothered Kurt the most for his dinner.

"You want to die...right?"

He was surprised at his own tone. Not only was it curious, but it was hopeful, but he could not say what for. He had nothing to hope for. He stood up then, to stand behind her, ready to kill her, but not to drink from her. He would give her the death that he had never been allowed. Even now he did not know how to die, and Blaine had not told him. He was getting close he thought, because a fire could harm him, but he healed so fast it was pointless. He was missing a key puzzle piece. He was unprepared for her laugh.

"Die? No Mr. Hummel. I wish to live. I promised him that I would live forever until I couldn't walk anymore and my feet bleed from age. And then I would die and be with him. I would tell him about the times, about the smells, the sunrises and sunsets. Nay sir, I cannot die. I need immortality to keep my promise."

And Kurt couldn't help wanting to give her what she wanted. Because she had sort of asked hadn't she?


End file.
